I Don't Want To Die
by FlossAus
Summary: Post Sara's death, Oliver examines the words he spoke to Diggle and where they lead him. Inspired by Stephen Amell's fantastic line reading of that heartbreaking sentence to John.
1. I Don't Want to Die

Title: I Don't Want to Die

Author: Floss Aus

Rating: K+

Summary: A short post Sara's death reaction, in which Oliver examines the words he spoke to Diggle and where they lead him. Inspired by Stephen Amell's fantastic line reading of that heartbreaking sentence to John.

Spoilers: Set post Sara

Disclaimer: CW and DC are Arrow peeps and Stephen Amell continues to be AMAZING as Oliver Queen and Emily Bett Rickards, is my spirit animal

Feedback: OH YES PLEASE, like watching Oliver on the salmon ladder.

He sat there for who knows how long. The words ringing in his ears, the silence crowding him in ways it had never done before. He'd been used to it, and in fact, preferred the absolute quiet most nights but now, the words he'd be so scared to say – it was all he could hear.

_I don't want to die down here._

It had shocked him actually, that he didn't want to die in his own world. Which, with rational thought was ridiculous but he'd never really been rational since his return. Oh sure, he looked it. The suit, the mask, the steady bow and straight shot – that kind of locked up calm can fool nearly everyone. But underneath, the nightmares, the shaking hands of fury, the unrelenting desire to sometimes give true justice to those he encountered. That was living in him; every day.

She knew it too, Sara. Knew the place inside where it hurt like nothing he'd ever experienced. She knew that saving others, was never really saving yourself unless you could face it. She'd actually encouraged him, damn it. Pushed him to face a truth he wasn't ready to see.

_So don't Oliver._

Was it really that simple? To just chose another path. To believe he could want more, aspire to more. And the question he still doesn't want to answer, does he deserve more? After everything, after all the blood on his hands, the bodies that lay his wake – how could he even begin to put himself above his cause? It was absolute selfishness and he'd never wanted to be that man again. The man that put himself first, above others. The man who boarded the Queen's Gambit.

_You're just going to spend your life hiding down here._

Her words were stronger, but they usually were. They always seemed to cut into him, from a place he wasn't expecting. It was easy to deflect; circumstance, tragedy, experience – it was all things she knew nothing of, at least of him. But that was a coward's choice, he now realises. Sitting here, outside her apartment building, waiting for her to return from who knows where, he realises now, that he's been a coward.

Car headlights drag him from his daze and he watches her ease into a parking space and step quickly from her car. It hurts for a moment, that he watches her check her surrounding so thoroughly, because he knows that his life brought that into her daily routine. He's opened the car door before he can stop and he crossed the street, meeting her at a steps the front entrance. She is shocked to see him, stuttering to a stop.

"Oliver," she finally manages and he notices the clip in her voice, the tension that tells him there is something more, not being said. He steps closer, into her space but he still can't find his voice, can't get words to make any sense in his head that would be appropriate for her to hear.

"Oliver, I've just accepted a job with Ray Palmer." She stammers, and heat rises to her cheeks but she won't look away, a reserve of confidence holding his stare. He takes a breath, releasing it more than gasping and she is shocked but his apparent relief. That she would hold her word, and so soon after they spoke. It doesn't disappoint him, it impresses him.

"I need to pay bills, and I eat food most week nights which has been less lately and I think it will be good for me to spend time with other man, not man – boss, who is, of course, a man."

"Felicity," he interrupts and she stops, dropping her head, waiting for the lecture or the pleading to stay or promises of money or food. She anticipates his stinging betrayal, his wounded pride but it never comes and when the silence drags on a beat too long, she raises her eyes to his.

He's staring at her with an expression she's never seen before. He's completely torn apart, completely raw and exposed and she catches her breath in shock. He clears his throat, his eyes flickering with doubt and then Oliver finally commits to saying it, out loud, to her.

"Felicity, I don't want to die down there."


	2. The Next Words

**Title**: The Next Words  
><strong>Author<strong>: Floss Aus  
><strong>Rating<strong>: K+  
><strong>Summary<strong>: The unexpected sequel to I Don't Want to Die. Oliver and Felicity discuss what salvation could be. Probably best to read I Don't Want to Die first.  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Set post Sara  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: CW and DC are Arrow peeps and Steven Amell continues to be AMAZING as Oliver Queen and Emily Bett Rickards, is my spirit animal  
><strong>Feedback<strong>: Thanks so much for the amazing feedback, and as requested, I've pushed the story onwards. Can it keep going further, possibly…let me know if you want it.

What comes next, what words, what understanding, what way to make her realise just how much telling her the truth could cost him? He honestly didn't know. And the momentum of his clarity was now rapidly dying as Oliver stood in the corner of Felicity's tiny apartment; he began to wonder if this wasn't all just a giant mistake. That maybe, his penance was being alone, serving his city unselfishly like he'd always planned.

She returned to the room, having changed her shoes and dumped her bag in what he assumed was her bedroom. She was still nervous, he could tell and his fading bravery meant his wasn't able to ease her mind in the way he usually tried. When she first ushered him inside the apartment, she'd moved around the small living room with hesitation, unsure what he'd wanted to do. Sit, stand, lie down in the foetal position – all of it sounded good but he ended with his back against her exposed brick wall, taking steadying breaths, hoping to regain a sense of calm, a sense of clearness that he'd found before he came here.

"Oliver," she tentatively smiled in his direction. "It's been forty seven minutes and you haven't said a word, and not to be uncaring but I start a new job tomorrow and I think maybe you need to think about things more-"

"I feel like I can breathe with you." He broke into her rambling monologue, almost impatiently, the words not smooth liked he'd hoped.

"Okay?" she answered, baffled. "Breathing is good, I guess."

"It makes me dangerous." He replied, anger rising at himself, anger at being unable to explain himself, to find the right words. He clenched his fists at his side, hoping she wouldn't notice the itch in his fingers.

"How so?" She asked, possibly already knowing his answer but wanting him to go there, to say aloud the words, she knew he lived by.

"Because I lose focus, I miss things, I can't shut you off."

"Excuse me?" She squealed, offended at his tone and almost dropping the bottled water she just retrieved from her fridge.

"I don't want to…I mean, you just …damn it." He cursed to himself, pushing his body further into the corner.

"Oliver, listen. What you said downstairs, that you don't want to die down there. Did you mean it?" She stares him down, her resolve hardening. Felicity Smoak knows Oliver Queen, better than she even realised herself and she knows, he is fast talking himself out of his vulnerable declaration. She knows if she doesn't push him now, he'll retreat and find a way to lose himself in his city. To see the darkness as comfort, the physical scars he gains as balms to his emotional wounds. She knows exactly how this can go and more than anything, after losing a friend to a death no one deserved, she wants to pull Oliver out, the man she knows exists under the hood.

"Yes," he firmly responds.

"Then you need to understand that having feelings isn't a bad thing. That caring for people, that mourning people doesn't make you weak."

"Felicity, I…" he paused, unable to say the words that were etched in his soul.

"It's a choice." She spoke firmly, removing her glasses. "You're choosing to live this life, in this way."

"You think I don't want it to be different? You think I want to live the rest of my life like this?" He flashed annoyance, his eyes rising to hers, a fight in them she hadn't seen all night.

"Yes," she replied, staring back at him, not afraid to look into his alarmingly blue eyes. "Yes, I do because frankly Oliver, if you want to change it that badly – you would. You can do anything when you set your mind to it. I've seen it myself. So what are you hiding from?"

"I'm…Felicity…I'm not." He stuttered, retreating back against the wall, not prepared for her confrontation, not prepared for her to dig into him this way. For a split second though, his own thoughts haunted him. Felicity always came at him sideways, unexpectedly. She'd been doing it since the moment he met her.

"I don't believe you. What are you scared of?" She pushed again, her words slower than her usual rapid fire pace. They were precise, finding their marks with each syllable.

"Myself!" He roared at her, finally cracking. The ugly truth that the drugs had shaken free, that his dead ex-girlfriend's body weighed down on him, that his life in general was tearing him down was his greatest fear realised. "I don't ever want to be that person before the Island. I was …"

"A douche?" Felicity suggested, a slight smirk breaking the tension.

He took a steadying breath, her quip easing his thundering heart. "Felicity, anytime I've tried…anytime I wanted to…be Oliver Queen again, bad things happen."

She stepped towards him, as he almost cowered in the corner.

"You are _not_ responsible for Sara's death," She whispered. He sighed heavily at her words. While in theory he knew them to be true, the path that lead Sara towards her mask was entirely lit up by him.

"Oliver, look at me." Her palm lightly touched his cheek, dragging his face to hers. He reached for her hand, meaning to remove it, to break the contact but instead he found himself locking his fingers with hers, pulling her closer, almost like a lifeboat in a deserted ocean. "You are _not_ responsible for the life Sara lead, the choices she made. You are _not_ responsible for Tommy being in the Glades that night to save Laurel. You are _not_ responsible for Slade Wilson murdering your mother."

"But…" He whispered words dying on his lips.

"No, listen to my next words. Oliver Queen, you are a good man. You are brave and strong and you are not the mask you wear."


End file.
